


Ramona

by sfs



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:50:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfs/pseuds/sfs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The group seeks treatment for Miles in the town of Ramona. Charlie enthusiastically interviews a local barfly for info and gets caught in a compromising position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Charlie/Monroe
> 
> Rating is for future chapters, limited smut til around ch.3.

The last of the flames guttered out as one by one the charred remains of the soldiers toppled to the gymnasium floor. The air was acrid with the mixed smells of melted plastic and the gut-turning greasy stench of smoked meat. The faintest hint of sulfur rounded it out.

_Maybe Aaron’s the goddamn antichrist._

Bass glanced over at Charlie, and met her eyes. Those eyes. They ran the gambit from blue to green, but even when the color changed they were always direct, honest even when they shot steely loathing straight through his head. Now they looked slightly shocked, but ready—asking him to take the lead.

He gave a short nod, hefted his gun and leapt over the low barricade, out of the blind that a few minutes and an act of god earlier had seemed pretty sure to be their grave. He landed lightly and broke into a fast trot. A moment later he heard the sounds of Charlie following suit, then their boots were beating against the wood in perfect counterpoint. One two, one two. A sense of satisfaction settled over Bass at their synchronization, and more from the fact that he didn’t need to look behind him to know that Charlie was following. That he didn’t need to worry about the loaded semi-automatic cradled in her slim arms. Her eyes had told him that too.

_You came back._

He hadn’t meant to.

_The sound of boots echoed down the hall. The exit sign loomed large, sunlight glinting off the dull red plastic of its lettering._

_He looked at Charlie. Her face was saying “don’t” but it was odd, that face, like she didn’t really think he would._

_He shrugged. Not an apology._

_The boots were echoing closer now, the sound reverberating against tile and the thin metal lockers. Bass turned and ran into the stairwell, the door falling closed behind him._

_He pulled up short at the bottom of the flight of steps. The soldiers would do a full sweep of this level before they went to clear the stairs. Charlotte was resourceful; she would have found a way to evade the first sweep. That meant there was a window, a minute maybe two, when the floor would be clear. Unless they’d left a reserve guard._

_There was no more time to second guess. He slid through the door, back into the hallway._

_They’d left a reserve._

_One had Charlie pinned up against the wall, his hand on her throat, sword poised. The second was watching, his blade also held at the ready._

_Bass quickstepped on the balls of his feet, not letting the heavy soles of his boots sound against the linoleum. He crept up behind the second guard, so close he could smell tea tree oil drifting off the guy’s skin. Bass drew his sword, brought his arm around and slit the guard’s throat in one even line. The guard collapsed deadweight to the ground, and Charlie made quick work of the advantage, slicing her attacker open at the gut. She looked at Bass, the recent brutality already forgotten._

_“You came back.”_

_Her voice was even, her eyes steady, almost trustful. They were true staggering blue right then, and blood dripped crimson off her knife. Suddenly Bass understood why Miles had been willing to risk everything to go back to Philly for this girl. She seemed to have an inborn talent for war on par with the most ruthless of the Mathesons, lacking only the years of experience to hone it, but no matter how viciously she fought, she still above all had faith. Faith in her family, or whatever makeshift scatterings of it she had left—anyone she protected, or protected her, anyone willing to keep alive the few people she cared about. Bass had never expected to be one of them, having been responsible for tearing that family apart in the first place. But standing in that hallway, death scattered all around, her eyes said he was._

They made their way through the school, Bass scouting ahead at intersections and corners, Charlie hanging back, covering him and watching their rear. They didn’t speak until Bass made towards a side exit, his hand already on the steel handle when Charlie spoke up behind him.

“What about Miles and my mom?”

He turned towards her. “Chances are they’ve made their way out.”

She shook her head. “They wouldn’t. Not till they knew we were okay.”

His lips tightened but he nodded. She resettled her grip on her gun, waited for him to pass her and take the lead. Another passive act of trust. The tally was growing.

They found Aaron first. He was on his knees, despondent, his rounded shoulders slumped so far forward that they nearly hid Cynthia from view. She was dead. That was clear as much from the bullet holes as from Aaron’s posture. Bass scanned the hall for any surviving Patriots. Charred remains of former soldiers littered the corridor but there were no signs of any remaining threats.

A hissing breath sounded from behind him, and then Charlie was rushing past him to kneel on Cynthia’s other side, her hands hovering in the air above the teacher’s body for a moment, shaking slightly, before they relaxed to her knees and she settled back on her heels.

“I’m so sorry, Aaron.” Her voice was soft.

Bass circled around to scout the intersection, casting a long eye down the empty hallway.

“It’s my fault.” The big man’s voice was blank. “I made them. I mean I guess I made them, I don’t really understand the details but…somehow it was me. I made this—this brilliant _thing_ and the only time I needed it, the only time it mattered…” he took a shuddering breath. “It was me. I was too stupid to ask the right question and now they’re gone and she’s dead.” His eyes traveled from Cynthia’s prone hands to Charlie’s face. “It’s my fault.”

Charlie sat up on her knees, looked Aaron in the eye. “Did you shoot her?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Cynthia. Did you shoot her?”

“N-no. Of course not.”

“Then it’s not your fault she died.” She stood and offered him her hand.

After a moment he took it and stumbled to his feet. Bass wondered how she managed to make something so stark sound kind. Idly he thought if he were ever dying he’d want her to be the one to break the news.

“We’ll come back for her after we find the others.” The girl’s voice was softer now that Aaron was on his feet.

Finding them turned out to be a quick job. They took a right, then a left, Aaron half-supported by Charlie, Bass ranging ahead, still at the ready. They were almost to the main exit when whispering echoed into the hall from one of the classrooms on the left. They ducked into it, and came up short, Bass freezing for a moment in the doorway. Charlie glanced over his shoulder and went just as still, Aaron swaying in place by default, too unfocused to notice anything. Rachel sat on the floor, Miles’s head in her lap. She was crying, quietly pleading with him to open his eyes, but he wasn’t moving. The veins in his arm above his broken hand were dark, swollen, and his face was sickly white.

Bass moved into the room, coming to a stop a few feet from Rachel. “What happened?”

She was shaking all over, her hands and eyes roving over Miles’s face.

“Mom. What happened?” Charlie’s voice spoke up from behind him. A quick glance said Aaron had detached to stand on his own, his face bleak but focused. Charlie looked like a spring pulled tight, her eyes locked on her mother and uncle.

Rachel’s head pulled towards them but her eyes didn’t leave Miles. “He’s septic. One of the bones in his hand must have set wrong. He hid it and now…”

“Mom.” Charlie’s voice was hard.

Rachel closed her eyes tight and let out a breath. When she opened them, she finally looked up, baby blues sweeping right past Bass to her daughter. “If we don’t get him to a doctor he’ll die. Even if we do he may die. Or lose his hand, or the whole arm.” Bass swallowed, his hands gripping his gun so hard the metal rivets cut into the skin.

“Then we need to move.” Charlie said.


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie sat at a table in the back corner with a view of the front door and the kitchen exit. She split her time between circling a finger around the mouth of her now-warm beer and throwing smiles at the young guy slouched up against the bar. He was tall and broad, the thin material of his shirt pulling against taut muscles, but by the way he glanced around nervously after he smiled at her she thought he’d probably never been outside of this flyspeck town.

He seemed a little too skittish to make easy conversation with but her options were limited at this time of day, with early afternoon sunlight still slanting bright across the taproom floor, highlighting the sticky residue of past drinks that stood out in rings and heavy smears across the wood of the empty mismatched tables. _Find out what they know,_ Rachel had said. It was either this shy guy or the handful of other customers in the bar, every one of which looked like exactly the sort of person that would be drinking before three, none of whom seemed like they would be particularly forthcoming to a stranger asking about the Patriots. The whole fact-finding mission was probably pointless, but Charlie was glad enough to be out on her own that she didn’t mind.

They had ridden in late last night, making the ten-mile trip from Willoughby with two horses liberated from the torched Patriot battalion, with a rough flatbed cart hitched up behind one of them. The cart had been an issue; they needed it to transport Miles but they couldn’t go nearly as fast as they needed to without busting a wheel or axle in the pitted ruin of a road. They’d made the trip in near silence, Monroe on the horse leading the cart, Charlie on the other, with Aaron, Rachel and Miles riding in the makeshift wagon. Miles lay sprawled out, unconscious, his veins dark and distended, head in her mother’s lap. Aaron leaned against the rail, nearly catatonic, the way he’d been since they’d found him slumped over Cynthia’s body. Rachel was the only one who made a sound, whispering nonstop to Miles in a voice so painfully fragile that it made Charlie want to break into a gallop just to get away from it. When they’d finally reached the small town of Ramona it was nearly dawn, and Miles’s breathing was so shallow that Charlie had to hold her own breath to be sure it was still there.

“Turn at the next right,” Rachel said.

It was so dark Charlie could barely make out the low buildings around them but a few moments later Monroe steered the horse and cart to the right, into a darker patch between two buildings. Charlie followed suit, directing her horse with her knees, hoping that they weren’t about to run the animals into a brick wall. She relaxed once they’d gone a couple hundred feet, but there didn’t seem to be anything lit on this road either.

“Where are we going?” she asked, unconsciously lowering her voice to a whisper.

Rachel didn’t look up from stroking Miles’ forehead, her other hand grasping his wrist at the pulse point. “Ramona started out as a medical outpost for the Rangers and the town grew up around it. There are doctors, nurses, IV fluids…they work for the Rangers but they farm out treatment for anyone who can pay.” Her voice was flimsy, almost singsong, like she was talking through a dream. Then the song faltered, almost cracked. “Dad used to work here.”

Charlie swallowed. With Cynthia gone and Miles at the brink, she wasn’t ready to think about what had happened to Grandpa Gene.

They rode to the end of the street and out into a square, and suddenly there was light. It shone from the windows of a large brick building in the middle of a green. Only the first floor windows were lit, but in the predawn blackness it looked like a blaze.

The cart rolled to a stop and Charlie dismounted. Before her boots touched the ground, Monroe was climbing into the back of the cart. He knelt beside Miles, hefted him over his shoulder and jumped down, making his way toward the building, the rest of them right behind.

Monroe still hadn’t said a word and it was starting to worry Charlie. His jaw was set, his eyes hard, in that way that sent dark hollows into his cheeks. The way he used to look every time she saw him when he was General Monroe, the obsessive psycho murderer. She guessed part of him still was that man, but she shied away from the thought. It was so easy to forget who he’d been when she watched him with Miles, when they traded city names back and forth like a coded spoken-word scrapbook. It was easy to forget when he showed up in an arterial spray of someone else’s blood just when they needed him.

_And he came back._

Charlie shook her head hard, and followed her mother into the entryway of the brick building.

A woman sat at a wooden desk in a tiled lobby, the table piled high with papers. She wore faded hospital scrubs with a big bleach stain across the chest. Charlie guessed some stains were harder to get out than others. When the woman saw them, she stood, her eyes going straight to Miles hanging deadweight over Monroe’s shoulder.

“Triage!” she shouted.

The squeaky slap of shoes against tile immediately followed, echoing through the halls, and three more people in scrubs ran into the room. The first woman darted into a door on their left and reappeared a moment later with a gurney. She trotted it over to Monroe, who laid Miles down on it. Then it was out of their hands. Miles was surrounded by the medical personnel, who wheeled him back deeper into the building, talking fast between themselves.

“Sepsis—”

“—immediate intravenous treatment—”

“BP critical.”

And then the first woman, over her shoulder, “One kin per patient!”

Rachel stayed, of course. She was trotting after the medical whirlwind before the woman even finished, leaving Charlie, Aaron and Monroe standing in the lobby.

After that they’d made their way to the bar, the only other place open, and holed up in a room upstairs. There were two narrow beds on threadbare carpet and only a kerosene lamp for light. Its glass was dingy and yellowed, with a big crack spiderwebbing across its surface, throwing strange shadows against the walls. As soon as they entered, Aaron laid down on the floor, turning his back to the other two. Monroe looked at him and shrugged. He took the bed closest to the door and laid down on it fully clothed. Charlie moved past him and did the same on the second bed. She reached over, turned the key in the lamp to snuff the wick, and plunged the room into darkness.

Minutes stretched into an hour and Charlie lay staring up at the ceiling. She could hear the slightest _tap tap tap_ of Monroe drumming his fingers against his leather cuff.

“He’s gonna be fine,” she said. She wished it didn’t sound so much like a question.

“He will.” Monroe’s voice was certain, almost angry. “Bastard can’t die until he tells me where my son is.”

It must be nice to have that kind of anger to summon up, Charlie thought. You’d never have to be scared. She was beginning to think she was no good at anger; she couldn’t seem to hold onto any of her grudges.  

_Tap tap tap._

She didn’t fall asleep until morning lit the room from plaster ceiling to grungy floor.

 

 

She’d gone to see Miles as soon as she’d woken up. They wouldn’t let her into his recovery room, because the ward was quarantined from outside visitors, but Rachel met her in the lobby.

“He’s stable,” she said. Her eyes looked even paler than normal, a faded cornflower blue, but she smiled. “They said they’ll release him from the isolation ward tomorrow if he stays steady.”

Charlie smiled. “So I’ll be able to see him?”

“Yes. But it’s also another day for news to travel. The longer we stay here, the more danger we’re all in.”

Charlie bit back her smile. “I know. Just because this is Texas territory doesn’t mean the Patriots won’t try and pick us up if they can get away with it.”

“And we know they have eyes everywhere.” Rachel’s voice was tight, so clearly not talking about Gene that she may as well have screamed his name. “You have the best chance of not being recognized. Talk to the locals. If you can, find out what they know about what happened in Willoughby.”

So here she was, drinking in the middle of the day like a washed up old man. She drained her beer, the brew so thin it went down like water. She stretched, feeling the sun on her bare shoulders. Miles was going to be okay. Aaron had found a tiny school library and holed himself up inside, and Monroe had gone off to god knows where. They were finally out from under one another, and tomorrow or the next day they would start out on the open road, all ties to the claustrophobic Willoughby severed. Charlie felt a tingle run over her skin. Things weren’t great but they were looking up. An enormous pressure had lifted and the release left her feeling…friendly. Well, she was supposed to talk to the locals.

She smiled broadly at the guy at the bar and let out a deep breath. His eyes trailed from her face to her breasts. She stood and wandered slowly towards the stairs, glancing back to catch his eye. The guy threw back his drink, his eyes locked on her. She made her way up the stairs, not needing to check he was following. She would have known even if she hadn’t been able to hear his heavy tread on the steps behind her.

She reached the landing, walked to their room and went in, leaving the door ajar behind her. She heard the door click closed. She turned and sat on the first bed.

The man stood against the wall, staring at her. He was even taller than she’d thought, with dark tanned forearms and face, though she could see paler skin around the collar of his shirt. A farmer maybe, or a ranch hand. He didn’t look nearly as shy as he had downstairs. As she looked him over a slow grin grew over his face and he moved to sit facing her on the bed, his hand ghosting along her lower back.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Sarah,” she said.

“I’m Ray.” He leaned forward and kissed her, sliding his arms around her waist, and pushing her backwards towards the bed.

She kissed him back, liking the warmth of his lips, and the way his hard chest brushed lightly against her, hardening her nipples into peaks. But she braced one hand behind her to prevent being splayed out on the bed. Business first.

“What do you do, Ray?” she asked between switching her lips from his to suck lightly at his neck.

He hummed low back in his throat. “Work at the Texas stables.” His hand tangled in her hair and his other hand slid along her hip and up her torso, skimming over her stomach and breasts before coming to rest lightly at the back of her neck. He kissed at her breasts, laving the tanned skin with his tongue. “Keep the horses fresh for the message depot.”

He released her hair to tweak her nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers until it stood up hard under the fabric of her tank top. Charlie gasped, her fingers knotting in back of his shirt collar. She felt the first hint of moisture slicken her folds.

“What’s a message depot?”

“There for when Rangers have to get somewhere fast.” He lowered his mouth to her nipple, closing his lips around it through the material of her shirt and sucking on the bud. Charlie clenched her legs around his waist, grinding her pelvic bone into his lap. She felt his half-hard cock jump in response. When he spoke his voice was slightly strained, his mouth still pressed against her breast, the vibrations from his words sending tiny shockwaves of sensation through her. “They give us their blown horse, we give ‘em a fresh one.”

He lowered his mouth again, and brought his hand to her other breast, palming its weight.

Charlie ran a hand down his flat stomach, trailing teasing fingers along his belly button and along the waistband of his jeans. “Ever hear anything exciting?”

He smiled up at her. “Like that kind of thing, huh?”

She shrugged, curled her fingers through his belt and pulled him tighter against her, simultaneously rolling her hips against him. “Maybe.”

He sucked in a breath. “Got news yesterday there was a massacre not ten miles from here.” He thrust shallowly. His erection was in full force now, and the hard pressure of his groin pressed the zipper of his jeans into her pussy, sending anticipatory shockwaves to her clit. She gave a gasp of need and he grinned, moving his hands to press down at her hips, and thrust again. “War clan set it on fire.” Gasp, thrust. “Burned the Patriots there alive.” Thrust.

So they had blamed Willoughby on their standby scapegoat. They'd be spared a full-scale manhunt then, at least for now. This day just kept getting better.

She kissed him and leaned backwards, finally letting him lay her flat on her back. He propped his forearms up beneath him so his torso wasn’t crushing her, but kept his hips draped over hers, the heavy length of his cock hard against her thigh. His hand trailed down her stomach, teased at the closure of her jeans. She clenched the muscles in her pussy, feeling her clit pulse in anticipation. His fingers unbuttoned the clasp of her pants, slipped under the band of her panties—

The door burst open so fast it rebounded against the wall, coming to a stop against a hard, scarred palm. Monroe stood in the doorway, his other hand gripped white on the hilt of his sword. His eyes locked onto hers and she forgot to breathe. Her muscles went rigid, and as her lower lips tightened she felt the slickness there, realized she’d gone from wet to drenched in a matter of seconds. Charlie wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. There were certain things she wasn’t capable of, and dropping a stare, even one this humiliating, was one of them. After what seemed like an eternity his eyes moved from hers to Ray, who still straddled her. Monroe’s face had the cold, furious look on it that she had only ever seen when he was cutting the life out of someone.  His eyes flicked from Ray’s face to his hand, still frozen in the waistband of her underwear, and suddenly his face got even harder. She felt Ray shudder. Monroe grit his teeth together, spoke in a growl through his clenched jaw.

“Get out.”

Ray stumbled to his feet and out the door, skirting the other man as widely as possible, and pulled the door closed behind him, leaving Charlie alone with a murderous Sebastian Monroe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was a little longer and obviously all Charlie's POV. I don't know if I'm going to do the next chapter all Monroe or switch perspective back and forth between. Thoughts? Next stop, sexy times!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit later going up than I had planned. The weekend kind of blew up all over me. But here it is, hope you like it! Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed! Without you guys I wouldn't finish anything.

Bass stood absolutely still, unsure of what would happen if he moved. He’d come back from bathing in a shallow creek a little ways outside of town to find the taproom of the bar alive with whispers and people furtively glancing towards the stairs. The mutterings hushed as he went by but it still didn’t take six steps to hear Charlie was upstairs with some stablehand “whose missus was gonna kill him.” Bass tried to keep his pace normal, not wanting to make a scene by running, but by the time he was halfway to the landing he had broken into a trot. All day his skin had seemed too tight and now he felt like a piano wire stretched so taut he could hear the high-pitched whine of its vibrations in his ears.

He wrenched the door open, letting it slam against the wall and smack back against his hand, clinging to the solid feel of the wood grain on the skin of his palm. At his first view of the bed he felt a sickening lurch in his head. It was a familiar feeling, a cold slippery unease that crept up at the edges of his thoughts, tilting everything slightly off balance. It was always there at the sidelines, but in recent weeks it had only reared up in force when he had a sword in his hand.

It hadn’t been this strong since he’d ordered Jeremy’s execution.

_No one’s in their right place._ The words whispered through his head and he hoped to god he’d thought them.

His eyes settled on Charlie, and his vision steadied a little. Her eyes were still the same, aroused and a little panicked now, but still direct, honest, unwilling to drop. He relaxed enough to pull his hand from the solid anchor of the door.

He looked at the guy on top of Charlie, noted that one of his large hands was only partly visible, the other portion being down her pants. He felt a sharp pain in his right hand and realized for the first time that he gripped the hilt of his sword, the pressure so tight his fingers were numb. He thought it probably wasn’t good that he could be so preoccupied with one hand that the one holding a weapon operated without his knowledge.

“Get out,” he growled.

The guy scrambled off the bed and made for the door. Bass half-hoped his ghost hand would move on its own and cut the stableboy in half as he ran by. It didn’t, and the kid slammed the door closed behind him, sealing Bass and Charlie into the silent room.

For a moment Charlie lay frozen on the bed. She looked utterly debauched. Her hair was in a disarray of dark gold waves, her lips swollen; chest heaving, nipples standing erect beneath damp-darkened circles, assumedly from horse guy’s mouth, and her pants gaped open, exposing the curve of her hipbones and the smooth tanned expanse of her stomach above a strip of black underwear. Bass zeroed back in on her face, but Charlie had used the brief lapse in his attention to drop her eyes. Now she sat up and calmly did up her pants, the sound of the zipper so loud in the silent room that Bass swore he could hear the click of each individual pair of metal teeth.

“So I know that must have been weird—” Charlie started, matter-of-factly.

“Miles is dying and he’s taking my kid with him. And you’re in here fucking some married hayseed who doesn’t even have the stones to tell me to fuck off.” Her eyes flew back to his in surprise, and he took a step forward to press his advantage. “It’s worse than ‘weird,’ Charlotte.”

She shook her head slightly and stood, so that she was only a few feet away from him. Her hands came up in a calming gesture. “Miles is going to be okay. They’re moving him out of isolation in the morning.” She reached a hand out, like she would touch his arm, but stopped short and smiled instead. “He’s safe. They’re safe.”

Bass stood stock still, then one by one felt the muscles in his shoulders and neck relax. The queasy feeling receded to the edges of his thoughts, making him feel almost giddy, like a pressure valve had released behind his eyes, leaving him floating in an over-oxygenated state of hyperawareness. The room snapped into sudden focus, though he could still feel the slippery edges of mania, like a permafrost around his thoughts, making physical details loom large and consequences recede. He noticed, for instance, that although the room was hot and the damp spots on Charlotte’s shirt had mostly dried, her nipples still stood at attention. A quick inspection told him that her thigh muscles were flexed, pressing them tightly together, and her pupils were blown large.

He felt a grin spread over his face, blowing out his breath in a short laugh.

“Could’ve told me sooner.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sooner when? This is the first time I’ve seen you.” Her cheeks flushed and she looked at him through her lashes, a little shamefaced. “So he was married?”

He felt his smile turn feral. “Shocked he didn’t tell you.”

“I didn’t know,” she looked abashed, her chin angled low and the edge of her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I was just working him for intel.” She brightened a little, sending a flashing white smile towards him. “Oh! Turns out we’ve got a little leeway. Official word among the Rangers is a war clan burned Willoughby to the ground.”

It was good news but the way she said it made him pause. There was an edge of relief to it like she was trying to buy her way out of trouble with the information.

It him suddenly.

She was talking to him like he was her CO. Way too casually of course, but definitely as though she were reporting to a superior officer. She even stood at attention, her back ramrod straight, which did interesting things to his view of her chest, her breasts pushed forward and neckline riding low.

He took her in, feeling the same sense of satisfaction as when she’d followed his lead out of the school in Willoughby. Who would’ve thought he’d have to lose his territories to have a Matheson marching under him again? Charlie would have made a great conscript, and the brand on her wrist already marked her for him.

His cock twitched to life at the thought. He moved closer so there was less than a foot between them and looked down at her challengingly.

“At least you got something worthwhile out of it then.”

Her chin lifted. “Yeah, I did.”

“But not everything you wanted.” He stepped in closer, and she took half a step back, her ass coming up short against the foot of the bed. He slid one hard thigh between both of hers.

“What’re you doing?” she said.

He leaned forward and braced his hands on the footboard, on either side of her, bringing his face in close. He could feel her warm breath against his lips.

“You tell me.”

She stared at him then scoffed, pressing the pink tip of her tongue behind her teeth, but her thighs opened wider, allowing him to settle his hips flush against hers.

“You need me to tell you what to do?”

Her lips were still shaping the last word when he pressed his mouth to hers, taking advantage of her surprise to flicker his tongue along her lower lip. His hands dropped to below her ass and lifted so that she wrapped her thighs around his waist, hands locking behind his neck as he walked them the few feet to the bed. He threw her to the mattress, drawing a quick cry of alarm from her, followed by the ancient springs screaming in protest.

Bass pulled his shirt up over his head and threw it into a corner. Charlie’s eyes trained on his chest, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He dropped his hands to the buckle of his belt and watched her eyes follow.  

“Last chance, Charlotte,” he said.

Blue eyes shot to his, and then she was pulling off her own shirt, exposing her round young breasts, full and pert, her nipples small and pink and hard as rock.

“Just hurry the hell up,” she said.

 

…

 

 

Charlie struggled out of her pants, surprised her fingers could move so quickly when her heart felt like it was about to pound out of her chest. Soon she lay on the bed in just her panties, skin hypersensitive in anticipation. When she looked up Monroe was watching her, blue eyes roving over her so hotly that it felt like a physical touch.

When she couldn’t take it anymore, she reached forward and grabbed at the undone ends of his belt, pulling him closer to her. She heard his breath hiss through his teeth when her hands went to the button of his pants. The material was heavy, the weave rough beneath her fingers, and the heat radiating off his skin made her hands fumble. Finally, the clasp came undone and she slowly pulled down his zipper, simultaneously pressing her lips to the taut muscles of his lower abdomen. His skin was so warm she wondered if he were feverish, or if all his fury just kept him running hot. She licked upward, delving her tongue into his navel, and felt his hand fist lightly in her hair.

Charlie let go of the zipper and danced her fingers into the opening of his jeans, softly tracing the impressive outline of his cock through his faded briefs.

A muffled growl was all the warning she had, and then Monroe was shoving his pants down and kicking them free. The sudden movement surprised Charlie and she steadied herself with one hand against his hip, the other grasping the waistband of his underwear.

“As long as you’re there,” Monroe said.

She looked up at him and smirked. His smile was glib but his breath came fast through his nose and his eyes were so steady on her face she thought he probably wouldn’t notice if a Patriot platoon busted down the door.

Still gloating, she turned her attention back to the task at hand. She hooked her remaining fingers in the waistband of the briefs and pulled them off him, revealing the hard length of him inch by inch. She tugged the underwear down his leanly muscled legs and he kicked them free.

Charlie had to take a moment to appreciate the masterpiece that was Monroe. Every inch of him was covered in muscle, from the hard slabs of his abdomen, to the sculpted power of his shoulders, to the corded strength of his thighs, and his cock was no exception. It was long and thick, one of the largest she’d ever seen, protruding from a base of course light brown pubic hair. He was so hard the velvety head of his dick pressed against his stomach, smearing a thin line of precum along the hard stretch of his lower abdomen. He was so hard, so soon. For her.

Charlie felt her panties slide against the lips of her vulva, her sex so slick that the cotton had molded itself to her. She let her eyes travel up to his before removing her panties. She reached down to pull them off, the motion sliding her lower lips together, making her heart rate pick up even faster.

When she straightened, sticky underwear in hand, his hand had moved to stroke the base of his cock, and at her movement he took a step closer, as though to push her down into the mattress.

She grabbed his wrist, simultaneously pulling him to a stop and taking his hand from his dick. Fury flared in his eyes for a moment, then died as she pressed the black cotton of her underwear into his palm.

“Hold these for me.”

He rubbed his finger and thumb together against the material, feeling the slickness there, and smiled. He stepped closer to where she sat on the bed, so that his cock stood pulsing less than an inch from her mouth. Charlie glanced at his dick then back up, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t honestly think you’re getting them back,” he said.

Charlie grinned and turned her eyes to the monolith in front of her. It really was gorgeous. She reached out a hand and wrapped it around the hot length of him, the skin velvety smooth, enlarged veins pulsing against her palm. He was so thick her fingers couldn’t close all the way around him. She pumped her hand up and down his shaft in short strokes, then leaned forward and took the head into her mouth, the bitter taste of cum trailing a thin line across her tongue.

Monroe’s hand settled on the back of her head and Charlie looked up at him, her lips still wrapped around his cock. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes so blue she thought they might shatter like glass. She watched him steadily, feeling her arousal pulse like a second heartbeat between her thighs.

Then she sucked hard on his head, pumped her hand at the base of him, and sucked a few more inches of his hard length into her mouth. There was a sudden pain in her scalp as his fingers spasmed against her head, driving his nails into her skull. The hand holding her panties had gone white at the knuckles.

She came up for air and smiled to herself in spite of the pain. She knew very well that the blowjob itself wasn’t what Monroe was getting off on, though she had full confidence in that area. It was because it was _her_ , her staring him in the eyes with her lips wrapped around his dick.

She sucked him into her mouth again, one hand making short strokes at the base of his shaft, the other gently fondling his balls. She bobbed up and down, taking him deeper each time. Monroe’s grip had loosened on her head, but even though his hand wasn’t clutching at her scalp anymore, his hand made a massaging motion against the crown of her head, and every once in a while when she’d hit a particularly good place, his fingers jumped against her head.

Each half-beat of his fingers was a reminder that she was going down on Sebastian Monroe. It should have made her feel sick but it didn’t. It very much did not. The trick was not to get in her head about it. That was the problem Rachel had, and Miles too to an extent. They set up mental blocks for themselves and tripped every time on the hurdle.

Conceptually, she still knew that if Monroe had been dead her father and brother would still be alive. She doubted she would ever forget it. But practically, her view of Monroe had shifted the moment they rode into Willoughby together.

He helped them keep her mother alive. He fought with them against the Patriots.  He came back.

He was a part of them so she treated him as such, like a more homicidal version of Miles with iffy mental footing. If he betrayed them she would hunt him down and skin the flesh off him like a deer, but until that day she could banish her memory of who he was. Monroe had his good points.

Like his cock which was now quite literally breathtaking.

Charlie gagged as the head hit the back of her throat a second time. She backed off it, pulling his member from her mouth, a strand of saliva hanging from the mushroom head of his dick to her lower lip.

She wiped it from her mouth and Monroe’s hand caught her wrist, his other hand doing the same, and pushed her backwards onto the thin mattress. He lay full-length against her, the hair of his legs and stomach and groin rubbing against her, pebbling the skin all over her body. He stretched her arms above her head, pushing her ribcage out and crushing her breasts against his chest in a way that was a hair from painful. His dick pressed against the top of her pussy, a dull throbbing promise trapped between them.

He lowered his face to hers, neither of them closing their eyes until their lips touched. He flickered his tongue against her lips, ran it along her teeth. She met him, sucking the organ deeper into her mouth, and then he broke the kiss. He rolled slightly to the side, giving her room to breathe, and released her hands to trail his own over her. One went to her breast flicking the nipple with his thumbnail, then he sucked it into his mouth and teased the bud with his teeth. His other hand skimmed over her stomach, coming to a stop at her pussy. He trailed just the tips of his fingers along the swollen lips of her vulva, her entrance so drenched that she should have barely be able to feel them at all. But she could.

The light touch was torture and after a frustrating lack of friction she whimpered in need, bucking her hips as much as she could in the limited space between them. It was no good. He wouldn’t be rushed. He just sucked her other nipple into his mouth, and she could feel his smile against her breast. He lightly teethed at the flesh, and she moaned. He switched from breast to breast, teasing them with fingers and tongue, moving to kiss along the column of her neck, and back again for what seemed like hours, his fingers still tracing that feather-light trail around her entrance.

She keened in frustration. “For fuck’s sake—”

Without warning he buried two fingers knuckle-deep inside her, the sudden pressure making her cry out.

“Bastard,” she gasped when she could breathe again.

Monroe pumped his fingers in and out of her at a steady pace. She was so wet they heard the squelch of each thrust.

She reached between them and grasped his cock, pumping her hand up and down its length as smoothly as she could with the awkward angle. Monroe rewarded her by adding another finger, stretching her inner walls, and flicked his thumbnail against her exposed clit. Her grip faltered on his dick then picked up again, and she pumped him hard at an uneven pace while he rammed his fingers into her cunt, his other hand working her clit at every thrust and she was close so close—

He pulled his hands from her suddenly, and caught her wrist where it still pumped along his shaft. She wanted to kick and shout at him but then he was on his knees, pushing open her thighs. His cock throbbed in his hand and he guided it to her entrance. She could feel it against her, prepped to hammer her open like a battering ram.

He pushed inside her slowly, so that she could feel every inch. He stretched her open, more than his fingers could have prepared her for, with an inexorable almost agonizing pressure. She tried to push her hips forward, to make him hurry, but his hands held her still and she gave a little mewl of frustration. He kept pushing, steady and unyielding, until he bottomed out against her cervix and she was full, she didn’t think she’d ever been so full, she just wanted him to _move,_ and the whole time he was staring her in the eyes, blue-on-blue, filling her and holding her gaze so she knew it was him, so that she couldn’t lie to herself.

“Monroe,” she gasped.

He pulled almost all the way out then slammed into her, hard. He set a furious pace, pulling out and thrusting deep, the girth of his cock and the pressure of his pubic bone sending mind-blowing sensations through her clit, as he pounded her into the mattress. It’d been a little over five minutes and she felt like crying with relief she was so close, the wave building, and every time Monroe slammed into her, her cunt clenched him like a vice. She was almost there, when he pulled out again, settling back on his knees, cock glistening with their fluids.

This time she didn’t wait for an explanation. As soon as she saw him pull away, she sat up and punched him as hard as she could in the shoulder.

“Stop _doing_ that!”

The eyes he turned on her were not friendly. They reminded her of when he first came in and saw her with Roy or Rich or whatever his name was.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he said, and before she had time to think about it, she’d done it, clenching the sheets in sweaty fists and arching her back so that she was wholly exposed to him. She was way too frustrated for embarrassment.

There was no slow easing-in this time. He pressed against her then thrust hard, burying himself full length, balls slapping audibly against her pussy. Her inner walls clamped down on his cock and she flexed her cunt muscles, squeezing him for all he was worth, until he let out a strangled groan. He thrust again and again and then his hand was buried in the hair at the base of her neck and he pulled her up against him, so that her back was flush with his chest. The grip in her hair forced the column of her neck to extend long, and he sucked at the exposed skin greedily. His other hand went to stimulate her clit, fingers traveling to feel at the place where they joined; his cock pounded mercilessly into her, his fingers rubbing her clit at each thrust.

The angle, his hand in her hair, and the ruthless thrusts bordered on painful.

If he stopped she’d kill him. 

After awhile his thrusts picked up speed, the rhythm going erratic, his cock pressing more deeply than she ever thought it could go.

“Can I?” He groaned against the skin of her neck.

There wasn’t breath to reply. She raised her arm to the back of his head, pressing his mouth to hers. He kissed her hard enough to bruise, his tongue thrusting desperately against her own. Charlie felt her orgasm coiling in her and cried out into Monroe’s mouth.

He thrust once more and went rigid inside her, hand working at her clit, and suddenly she was there. Every muscle in her body went rigid, sucking Monroe even further into her, her cunt clenching around him in spasm after spasm of release. He shouted, sinking his teeth hard into her shoulder. She cried out again, not totally in pain.

They stayed that way for a long moment, until she sucked a great whoosh of air into her lungs and collapsed shuddering against him. He seemed almost as weak, pulling slowly out of her and settling back against the mattress. She rolled over so they were both lying naked on their backs, staring at the plaster ceiling.

“Jesus Christ,” Charlie said at last, “what was that?”

Monroe laughed quietly and reached for her wrist, stroking his thumb over the raised skin of her brand. “That’s what happens when you don’t fuck hay boys.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short finale!

Bass watched Charlie laugh, her teeth flashing bright white against tanned skin.

He grinned back at her, feeling a tissue-deep relaxation in his muscles that only seemed to come after a good fuck. And it had been good. Great, actually; better than.

He watched a bead of sweat form under Charlotte’s right breast and roll a slow line across her ribs. He reached over without thinking and caught the drop on the tip of his index finger.

Charlie went totally still, her face smoothing into the indifferent expression that settled there so easily. Bass froze with his finger in midair, realizing what he’d just done. He didn’t need Charlie’s reaction to tell him what he already knew: sex was okay, intimacy was out of bounds. Nice to see they had a similar set of hookup rules, but scary to think he could break the fundamental one so effortlessly.

Why was everything always so different with the Mathesons?

Bass forced his expression into nonchalance, and casually wiped his finger on the thin bedsheet.

“Hot in here,” he said.

It was true; the tiny room was stifling with humidity and the musky scent of sex. The small talk appeared to calm Charlotte, which was interesting since normally it seemed to piss her off. At least with him. But now the line between her eyebrows relaxed and her hands released from the clenched positions they’d curled into. She seemed about to say something, but was interrupted by the rusty grind of the doorknob turning.

Bass’s eyes flew to Charlie, her face painted with panic, mouth slightly open and eyes wide enough that he could see the whites all around the irises. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been one hundred percent the right reaction.

The doorknob grated again and suddenly they were both moving—Bass rolling head-over-feet to drop behind the bed, using it as a screen; and Charlie towards the door, slamming one flat palm against it just as it started to open, making the wood rattle back against its frame.

“Naked in here!” she said in a too-loud voice.

Bass snickered in spite of himself.

“Uh, okay. Weird information.” Aaron’s voice was only slightly muffled through the door, making Bass wonder how much of their athletic’s sound effects had traveled through the thin wood. “Someone at the hospital got word that the Rangers are coming in for a med stop. Rachel says we have to move now.”

“Yeah, alright,” Charlie said, raking a hand through her hair, “I’ll get the packs together if you’ll go get the horses ready.” She threw a look at Bass over her shoulder. “Oh and see if you can track down Monroe.”

He mimed a salute her way and she smirked.

“Sure, sounds fun. Just me, two horses and a psychopath.” Aaron’s voice gradually receded as he headed back downstairs.

It was probably good the big guy took Charlie’s orders so easily, cause all the mutters of “psychopath” and “murderer” made Bass’s vision darken, the reminders of what he’d done summoning up the real thing, like goddamn Beetlejuice being called up to bat.

Luckily he didn’t have long to dwell on it before Charlie threw his jeans at him hard enough that the force wrapped the denim around his head.

“Get dressed,” she said, “you’ll have to go out the window and circle around.”

By the time he pulled the stiff pants off his face, Charlie was dressed.

He pulled his clothes on fast and straddled the window sill. There was a low building next door, barely more than a shed, but it looked like it would take his weight. He dropped over the sill, holding himself up by his forearms, clinging to the side of the building.

“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid,” he said to Charlie through the window. She looked at him blankly, which he guessed was all he could have expected but it felt right anyway. “See you on the other side.”

He let go.

It wasn’t until later, when they were five miles south of Ramona and Charlie sat in the wagon bed trying to get Miles to choke down some water that it really hit him. Charlie Matheson had gone down on him. _By choice_. He’d fucked Miles’s niece.

She looked up and caught him staring, then sent him a quick, blinding smile, all teeth and blue, blue eyes.

His hand moved to his pocket and felt the thin cotton of a pair of women’s underwear.

He’d fucked Charlie.

And he'd be damned if he wasn't going to do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like it! I'm going to switch POVs by chapter so we'll see how that works out.


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